“I don’t know.” She shrugged, a hint of shame flickering through her enchanting blue-gray eyes. “It feels strange to just leave everything in the bag. Too transient.”
Tristan’s heart clenched. Cassandra’s life for the past week—for the past eightyears—had probably felt transient. When was the last time she’d truly had a home?
“Let me help you,” he said, squeezing in beside her and lifting up the black bathing suit he’d insisted she purchase during their shopping trip earlier. Since most of their time in the sunny city would be spent waiting for the Artisan to do her work, they might as well take advantage and wait on the beach.
His lips kicked up into a crooked smirk as he dangled the suit. “Sweet Amatu, I cannot fuckingwaitto see you in this.”
She snatched it out of his grip and jammed it into the drawer. “And what will you be wearing on the beach? Trunks or briefs?”
“I prefer skinny-dipping.” He waggled his eyebrows and she laughed heartily. “Hey, you didn’t flinch at that curse. Should I be worried?”
She shrugged, bending over the bed to close her bag. “I must be getting used to your filthy mouth, Birdman.”
He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, hauling her against his body and bringing his lips to the shell of her ear. “My filthy mouth would love to get used to you too, Daredevil.”
She unwound his arms but he sensed the heat that coursed through her at his touch, his words.
“Friends and business partners only, remember?” she rounded on him, scolding. He wasn’t deterred in the slightest. “Letha spare me, remind me why I agreed to help you?”
“Because you can’t get enough of me,” he winked, tossing her satchel into the corner. “Let’s go, tiny human. Hella will drop kick me if we’re late for dinner.”
* * *
Tristan,Cassandra, and Hella gathered in the ship’s dining hall for a simple but hearty dinner of chicken skewers, rice and flatbread from the food stall on board. Plus a bottle of red wine from the vineyards of Nephes, the continental territory surrounding Delos, that Tristan was pleasantly shocked they carried.
The ship’s crowd was more mortal than Fae, but nearly every individual in the room spared a second glance for Hella. Her scarlet wings arced over the back of the chair she barely fit into. She was just as tall and hulking as Tristan, with tiny, golden braids that flowed to her waist and striking eyes of the same color.
Hella sliced her chicken, eating small, dainty bites as Cassandra stared at her. Cass seemed fascinated with Hella, not that Tristan could blame her. Hella often inspired such attention.
“So, Hella,” Cassandra piped up between mouthfuls of chicken, “how long have you and Tristan worked together?”
“Little baby man?” Hella said in her robust, Northern Ethyrian accent. She clapped Tristan on the back and almost knocked him out of his chair. Wrath of Vestan, she was strong. “I am Guard two-hundred years before he come crying from continent, whining about—” Hella stopped herself, panic rounding her eyes, concerned she was about to reveal his deepest secret.
“It’s okay, Hella,” he said, popping a piece of chicken into his mouth. The spice mixture they used on board was delicious—savory, sweet and tangy. He made a mental note to ask the chef what was in the rub. “Cass knows all about my sordid history.”
Cassandra shot him a withering look.
“Well, the big beats at least,” he winked.
He wanted to tell her everything. Didn’t know why he’d hesitated last night. She’d been so open with him, so caring. Cleaning his wounds, reasserting their friendship. He hoped she’d feel the same way once she learned the full truth. It was the only thing holding him back: the fear of losing her, despite what she’d said, despite the promises she’d made to stick by him.
“Do you live at the barracks, or do you have your own place in Thalenn like Tristan?” Cassandra asked Hella, spooning a pile of rice into her mouth and making those delectable noises she always made when she was enjoying her meal. He wondered how he could convince her to let him inspire those noises in the bed they’d be sharing tonight.
“Not all of us so… oh what is word… well-endowed as Tristan?” Hella said, and Cassandra burst into hysterics. “What? What I say?”
“I’m not sure that’s the word you meant to use,” Cassandra said, pressing a knuckle against her lower lashes.
“Oh that isexactlythe word she meant to use, Daredevil, and you know it.”
Heat simmered in Cassandra’s eyes before she composed herself. “I think you meant well-funded.”
Hella waved a gigantic hand. “Yes, yes, as you say. Well-funded, yes. What other word mean?”
Cassandra hesitated, struggling to explain such an idea to a relative stranger.
Tristan spread his wings as wide as they would go, twenty feet if they were an inch, blocking the paths of the other guests trying to get to and from their tables.
“It means I have an enormous…member,” he quipped.
